


Fur, Feathers and Frolics

by gregorin_greymalkin



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dildos, M/M, Past Abuse, Penis Size, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Size Kink, Submissive Scott Summers, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1337293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gregorin_greymalkin/pseuds/gregorin_greymalkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Same rules as usual,” Hank breathed in his deep, cultured voice. “Everyone gets naked. Warren and I make up any game we like and Scotty does as he’s damn well told.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fur, Feathers and Frolics

Sometimes Warren could just not resist flexing his wide white wings. Hank was always so much about controlling the beast within and that was admirable but sometimes Warren wanted to poke the bear anyway -- and, besides, he wasn’t a natural controller of another’s will. He needed to crank up his dom side a little before its machinery began to work.

They were standing on the balcony of his private, eyrie. This location had been chosen for its remoteness, no casual visitors, no probing satellites. There was a strip just big enough for a really good pilot to land an x-jet, a helipad, a luxurious penthouse apartment with a bed big enough for…several occupants, and down below, unbeknown to Hank and Scott as yet, there was the Danger Room he was having built, which was less for practicing for missions than for very different kinds of workouts. Beyond stretched the mountains and the high rivers falling as, to the west, the sun began to sink.

Scott was nervously sipping something as low alcoholic as Warren could make it without actually being insulting. It was an open secret that the stalwart leader of the X-Men was the world’s worst lightweight but, still, one didn’t want to rub Scott’s nose in it. Hank was running a really good whiskey over his tongue and Warren had just finished a glass of Chateau Lafite. Perhaps the good wine had gone to his head, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t resist snatching that glass from Scott and tossing it to Hank, letting his wings unfurl, grabbing Scott from behind, and flying off with him. 

“Don’t you dare, Warren!” Hank shouted -- who had nevertheless cleanly caught the glass.

Unrepentant, Warren cocked a grin at Hank over his shoulder. “I’ll bring him back when I’ve played with him.”

Hank was shouting something that Warren pretended not to hear but knew full well would be a reminder that Hank was the Master of the Revels when it came to X-Men sexscapades and Warren should wait his turn.

As Warren’s wings beat beautifully in the cooling air and the sun sank off to the west, Scott confined himself to a long-suffering, “Warren, put me down….”

“We’re fourteen hundred feet above sea level, Scott. I think I’d better hang onto you.” He wrapped his legs around Scott’s lean, warm body and nuzzled into his neck. Scott tried to be stoic but ended up squirming and giggling nervously as Warren deliberately breathed on the nerve, licked his earlobe and then nibbled at his neck. 

Keeping one arm wrapped around Scott’s chest, Warren stroked his fingers under Scott’s t-shirt and played with his washboard abs while still sucking hungrily at his neck. Scott shivered with guilty pleasure but said, “You shouldn’t make Hank mad.”

“Hank needs to learn to share his toys.”

“I’m not a…” Scott shivered again, deliciously, shuddering with pleasure as Warren’s tongue delved into his ear. “Not a…toy….”

“Scotty, in training, in the Danger Room, on a mission, or whenever the kids are watching, you’re an ass-kicking warrior and master strategist. Naked in a bedroom with any one of us guys giving you orders you’re basically a warm-blooded sexbot. Embrace your inner sub, my boy, because Hank and I are going to be taking him for a workout.” Another shivering response to both tongue and words that made Warren’s interest quicken still further. “I’ve half a mind to fly you to the top of the nearest mountain and plant my flag.”

“Don’t, Warren….”

“But I really want to claim you for Worthington Enterprises, Scotty.”

“Hank only agreed to share me with you under his ‘strict supervision’.”

“Hank’s a big spoilsport.”

Scott twisted his head round to give Warren a mischievous smile. “He really isn’t.”

Warren felt a little shiver of anticipation himself at this proof of Scott’s conviction that Hank would think up better games for the three of them than any they could come up with by themselves.

“Well,” he said. “I was only trying to get his dander up. I like it when Hank’s beast rattles its cage.”

“Well, don’t blame me if we both end up walking funny,” Scott said primly.

Warren flew Scott back to the balcony, where a grim-faced Hank was watching them, and landed with a flourish. “I bring you the evening’s entertainment -- admittedly a little licked and fingered but otherwise unsullied, O Master of the Revels.”

“That’s a bad habit you’ve got into with Scott -- just flying off with him when you fancy copping a feel,” Hank said blandly. “I might have to give you to Logan for some corrective training.”

“Unlike Scott, I have standards,” Warren returned.

Scott made an inarticulate protest which Warren basely stifled with a provocative kiss and warm fingers up under Scott’s t-shirt to caress his nipples. As he slipped his tongue out of Scott’s responsive mouth, he cocked a glance at Hank. “Not sure if he was defending Logan or insisting that he does have a minimum standard but either way I don’t need to hear it.”

“Why, when we’re role-playing do I always have to be the subby one…?” Scott murmured in mild protest.

“Type-casting,” Hank assured him. He grabbed Scott by the t-shirt, pulled him in close and then kissed him, deep and hard and -- going by the way Scott went limp and dazed in response -- very skillfully. Hank’s big blue fingers gently carded through Scott’s hair then cradled his head tenderly as he ravished his throat with his tongue. Warren moved behind Scott and kissed the back of his neck and then reached around to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. His levis fell to the floor unheeded and Warren stroked his fingers down into his boxers, loving the way Scott squirmed against him, gasping as Hank let him up for air.

“Same rules as usual,” Hank breathed in his deep, cultured voice. “Everyone gets naked. Warren and I make up any game we like and Scotty does as he’s damn well told.”

 

Warren watched as Hank prepped a now naked Scott with firm, slicked fingers. Hank had bent him over the back of the couch to do it and was using his left hand to hold Scott down by the hair; Scott, of course, as always when there was any suggestion of domination by someone he loved, was thrumming with little shivering reactions, like an incoming tide lapping against the wet sand, surf-spitted with the white foam of pleasurable humiliation. Hank had explained on that first occasion that Scott needed this mastery in the bedroom, a strong hand being the one to which he responded best, and Warren had seen for himself how true it was: a revelation that had surprised him and made perfect sense in the same instant.

Now he came forward at Hank’s nod and as the blue-furred genius shoved Scott’s head down further with his left hand, he fanned Scott’s pert buttocks with the fingers of his right hand to give Warren an enticing glimpse of his slick pink hole. It was a tight little mystery and looked unproven although they knew it was not only far from virginal but far more flexible than it appeared and had accommodated curious fingers, the playful probings of slicked vegetables, sex toys, some of the more unyielding kind, and their hungry cocks. They had sometimes been rough, eager, or even peremptory, but they had never been careless or unkind; however much they wanted him it never stopped them caring about him. There was good reason for the way Scott yearned towards them with such perfect trust.

At Hank’s order, Warren selected the dildo indicated -- long and ribbed but sympathetically slender -- and greased it as directed with generous palm slatherings of Vaseline, then pressed the point to that delicate entrance. Scott shuddered and Hank said, “He can take that easily. One steady push.”

It coiled up from his balls to his gut, a licking warmth, and then shivered up his back, making his wings ache, the pleasure of pushing that long dildo into Scott. His responsive gasps of excitement made Warren shudder in time, connecting them, and he bent to lick hungrily at Scott’s ridged spine, mouthing the warm skin that slid so flawlessly over those delicious knots.

“You want into him like you’ve never wanted anything in your life, don’t you?” Hank purred.

“Yes. Yes…” His voice was hoarse, a stranger’s choked whisper and Hank smiled.

“In time.”

Warren hated admitting it, but Hank managing these sessions between the three of them added a layer of dangerous excitement to his and Scott’s lovemaking that had quickly become addictive. Even when Hank, as now, was thwarting their needs on purpose just to defer everyone’s pleasure, it was still annoyingly hot.

Scott had always yielded to their touch; even in the field, even as his mind worked in diagrams and fractal equations, when they swept him up or carried him or laid hands upon him, his body’s instinct, when Warren or Hank touched him, was first to trust and second to submit. With enemies he was rigidly resisting, defiantly fighting back, wriggling free; with them he was relaxed and unquestioning, even when Warren flew above the cloud cover, or Hank dangled him from the ramp of a flying plane, he interlocked his limbs with theirs lovingly. It was because they were the two that carried him with their bodies, just as Jean had been the one, before her sacrificial death, who carried him with her mind, that they knew how much he loved them; to the point of instinctive submission at their touch. It had touched them in its turn and then exhilarated them, aroused them, emboldened them, empowered them. They saved him and carried him and swept him from danger and in the bedroom he yielded utterly with quiet sighs of satisfaction at finding a place where no one required him to be the leader; where orders were something that he need only follow.

Hank said, “Work it in…” but Warren’s fingers were already doing so, a breath snagged in his throat, dry-mouthed, as the long, slim dildo pumped in and out, opening Scott up, deep and tight, while he gave off soft, yielding groans.

Warren’s cock was hardening at the sight of that sweet violation. “I’m no longer than this is…” he gasped.

“Yes, but we both know what a tightass our fearless leader is, and as we can’t give him a good strong cocktail after dinner to relax him because he’s such a hopeless lightweight, we will have to fall back on excessive amounts of foreplay.”

Warren bent over Scott’s warm, naked body and whispered in his ear, “You know we love you, Scott? Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Scott said, turning his head so Warren could kiss him, which he did, very tenderly, a sweet fumbling of lips and tongue. It was probably the only place and the only time when Scott did truly believe it. When their bodies were hard upon his, demanding and protective at once, when they pressed him between them and filled him with their needs, only then did his body know so well that it was cherished that even his damaged mind did not disagree. There had been a new glow about him ever since they had moved from chaste friendship to rough and tender wooing. In Warren’s penthouse with the night sky painted with stars, high above the lash and roar of a shifting sea, they wrapped fur-lined cuffs around his strong, slender wrists and mounted and mastered him carefully and completely while he flexed and sighed between them. The next morning, deliciously tender, tingling from the aftermath of their firm possession of his body, he would stretch luxuriously and curl into their touch like a cat craving to be stroked….

Hank made him hold off, even though Warren was painfully blood-flushed. Procrastination in such a case was the sweetest of tortures, Hank insisted. They needed to embrace the pain.

“I’d rather hit you with a blunt instrument,” Warren said, easing the dildo gently in and out of Scott’s tight back passage.

“Cavil you may, Mr. Worthington, but I still maintain that Scott could be readier than he is. I half suspect he’s still running mission scenarios in his busy little brain.”

“I’m not!” Scott protested indistinctly but there was a guilty little twitch that went with the denial that made Warren suspect Hank was right.

Warren smacked Scott’s ass indignantly. “You’d better not be, Summers!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get him to embrace his id. I may have to get a little rough with him in the warm up process but we’ll both enjoy that….” Scott could not entirely disguise his little shiver of excitement and Hank smirked. “Do I know my test subject or do I know my test subject?”

Warren told Beast he was a closet sadist but Hank only grinned at him, unmoved. Sighing, Warren eased the dildo out of Scott’s now Vaseline-slicked ass and tossed it in the trash can. Single use only for sex toys was an indulgence of the wealthy about which he felt no embarrassment. He was happy to screw solar panels to his many roofs and recycle every jar and bottle consumed in his companies, but there was no reason why Scott ever needed to have anything that was not straight out of the packaging slipped up inside him. Sometimes, though, getting Scott’s head in the game, even when he was greased up and naked and claiming to be willing, really was a two-man job.

Warren and Scott got to snatch a sweet kiss as Hank pulled Scott up, but then Hank was tossing Scott a loincloth as they got ready to role-play his and Scott’s very personal version of Tarzan of the Apes. The one in which Scott played the part of Tarzan, and the ape who was his big-knuckled rival had a shockingly dirty mind. Scott, who had a prudish side and was embarrassed about role-playing in the bedroom, had insisted to Warren with great dignity that the game had begun as a tactical training exercise in which Hank had given Scott the chance to find a method by which an unarmed man could try to overcome a three hundred pound hairy gorilla beast genius without using his force beams or any other weapon. Hank having his literary bent that ‘training exercise’ had segued into a rematch of the combat in which Tarzan and Terkoz (now rechristened Hankoz) had fought for supremacy in Tarzan of the Apes. In their version, Tarzan, unfortunately for him, never did manage to subdue the cruel and mighty Terkoz with a half-nelson, and Hankoz had no interest whatsoever in abducting any Janes when he could abduct Tarzan just as easily, which he generally proceeded to do with considerable acrobatic flair. As far as Warren could tell, as a training exercise it was a bust, as Scott hadn’t won a match yet, but as a sex-game it was a little too effective -- the evil ape jungle ravishings of Scottzan by Hankoz now being too numerous to calculate. 

Warren was pretty sure it had actually been a big psychological step for both of them when their training session had slid into what could indeed be called hot monkey sex: Hank embracing the outer covering of the Beast, and Scott admitting that he wanted to be sexually dominated by another man. There had been a long time when Hank could not have role-played a gorilla even as a joke; looking like one being far too traumatic an event for him to be able to mock. The fact that he and Scott now had a groan-making catalogue of terrible ape jokes to go with their pretend gorilla sex and that Hank utilized the worst kind of King Kong fucks Fay Wray frathouse humor when getting Scott warmed up for the chase was probably a huge step forward in Hank’s acceptance of his new mutation. Or possibly just evidence that medical students hung onto their sick sense of humor even after they had qualified and were old enough to know better.

Warren tried not to sulk as Scott first told Hank he was being ridiculous, that he wasn’t playing that stupid sex game again, and then, inevitably, gave in, put on the loincloth -- it suited him far too well -- and fled obligingly, his long legs and fabulously toned body leading his hirsute pursuer on a wild sprint around Warren’s several thousand square feet of penthouse. Hank swung from Warren’s roof girders, sprang from couch back to bookcase, and deliberately played catch and release a few times before swooping down on Scott, gathering him up in one brawny blue-furred arm, flinging him over his shoulder, and carrying him off triumphantly to inevitable ravishment. The fact it made Warren as hot to watch it as it did Hank and Scott to play it was neither here nor there; he was still nursing a hard-on and being given nowhere to put it.

By the time Hank flung Scott down supine on the couch and ripped off his loin cloth with a chesty snarl so that all Scott was wearing was his visor, Scott was breathless, aroused, and pleasurably nerve-jangled because Hank could find a growl when he wanted to that sent instinctive fear ripples down any man’s spine, and Hank was a genius at being just the right amount of rough with him so it was believable for a moment that he might have lost control. When Hank roared and chest beat, Scott shuddered with excitement, and Warren noticed with resignation that, while Scott certainly liked having things pushed skillfully up inside him or being told that he was loved, being chased, naked, around an apartment by a -- naked -- big blue gorilla beast threatening to ravish him in a jungle treehouse was clearly psychological Spanish fly.

Warren poured himself a drink as Hank fake terrorized Scott on the couch -- Beast living up to his name by staying in scary ape mode as he loomed ominously over his panting, naked, sweat-sheened victim. Warren said, “Freud would have a field day -- and I mean you, too, Hank.”

Hank pinned Scott down and licked him fiercely, making him squirm deliciously as his tongue lapped over nipples and then sucked hard at his neck. Scott’s legs were straining open and Warren suspected that sometimes when he wasn’t here to be the voice of moderation, their Lord of the Jungle game got more than a little out of hand. Remembering all those muscles Scott had supposedly pulled in the Danger Room during ‘training exercises’ that left him limping, shame-faced, for a week, Warren now raised an elegant eyebrow. 

“Do I even want to know if there really is a treehouse? Or if you play this game in our hallowed national parks?” 

“People going around their own business down below can add a frisson when one is frolicking in a friendly treetop.” Hank playbit Scott’s belly with sharp, blunt-toothed nips that made him squirm and protest unconvincingly and then arch and gasp as Hank forced a thick finger into him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t indulged in some non-terra firma fun, Warren?”

Scott grimaced up at him guiltily from the couch and Warren wrinkled his nose at him in acknowledgement. Behind the visor, Scott was probably looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

Scott muttered, “Warren started it…” and Hank didn’t even try not to crow as he finger fucked Scott carefully.

“I knew it!”

It was a fact that Warren had recently developed a liking for swooping down on Scott when he was thinking about anything other than sex, grabbing him in his arms and flying off with him to a nice, secluded eyrie where there was no possibility of them being overlooked. There was something about turning Scott’s uptight leader boy yammering on about routines and training and discipline and lesson times and ‘This is totally inappropriate behavior during a mission, Warren!’ protests into muffled whimpers of ecstatic submission that was deeply satisfying on every possible level.

“Who among us has not wanted to fuck Scott on top of a mesa in the Arizona desert?” Warren countered. The Phoenix Force most certainly had but they were all currently trying not to remind Scott that for several months of his life he was being enthusiastically fucked by a cosmic entity that could swallow planets at one sitting and could, at any point, have turned him into a cinder with an angry thought. He already had one dead ex-clone wife who had gone loco and tried to sacrifice his kid, a clone son who had fed him baby food, and a clone-making Sinister as a stalker with an unhealthy fascination with him. He did not need to be reminded that the Phoenix Force also couldn’t get enough of him and had no idea about personal space; not when he was still raw from losing Jean. The boy had enough problems. Some days when Warren started counting up Scott’s various complexes he wondered what the hell he was thinking letting this guy be in charge of a mission he was flying on, and then other days he started counting up all the crap life had thrown at him and wondered why Scott wasn’t more fucked up than he was. 

“The risk of sunstroke must be considerable,” Hank, the doctor, countered, forgetting for the moment to be Hankoz the cruel abductor and absently stroking Scott’s concave belly in a way that was much too loving for an evil ravisher. “I hope you both used sunscreen.”

“I shielded Scott with my wings.”

“Did you reach the mesa before your first indulgence or did the urge to be naughty in mid-air overwhelm you?”

Warren downed his cocktail in a couple of gulps. “I think I’ll take the fifth on that one, Doctor McCoy.” It had been exhilarating and dangerous and he’d damned near dropped Scott while climaxing and had had to grab him with unseemly haste then spiraled them both into a tailspin before he’d managed to get his wings to stop shuddering and start flapping efficiently enough to get them rising instead of falling at dizzying speed. It had been totally worth it.

“You have no shame about your aerial erotorobics?” Hank observed, impressed.

“None. Although I do still take comfort in not being the guy who makes gorilla noises while chasing Scott’s hot ass around a friend’s elegant penthouse.”

Hank, basely, scoffed. “Like you don’t make eagle noises when you’re swooping in on him and carrying him off.”

Warren had been working on his poker face so, despite his pride in his eagle noises -- which were getting more accurate with each rendition -- he could have got away with a denial if Scott had not said curiously, “How did you know?”

Hank smirked at Warren over Scott’s sweat-sheened body. “It’s going to take some explaining on missions if Scott starts getting an erection every time an eagle flies over head.”

“It’s going to be harder still to explain his reaction if he’s the one taking the kids to the zoo next semester and ends up in the primate house. One threatening grunt from a silverback and he’ll be on his knees offering it a blow job.”

“I have amazing self-control,” Scott reminded them both smugly. Maddeningly, he did. Meaning that all his squirming and whimpering and submitting to them was undoubtedly a choice rather than a simple reaction. He chose to relax into it. He chose to surrender control to them; it was arguable whether or not they could have taken it from him; what was undeniable was that neither of them would have done so, unless it was in his defense.

“Not by the time I’ve finished with you, my lad,” Hank told him firmly and Scott grinned, straddling his legs so Hank would finger him deeper.

“Promises, promises.”

As Hank’s eyes glowed gold and Scott tensed with excitement, Warren said, “No more chest beating – I mean it. I’m not sitting it out from the sidelines while you two play King Kong again.”

“Tarzan,” Scott corrected primly. “I’m male and, incidentally, the king of the jungle, in that scenario.”

“Fat lot of good being king of the jungle does you when you spend all your time as Tarzan getting fucked over any available flat surface by an evil blue gorilla beast.”

“Now you’re just nitpicking.”

Hank said, “Hankoz isn’t evil, he’s just misunderstood.”

“I remember the one in the book being a bullying coward who beat up old lady apes….”

“Hankoz is a far more complex character than Terkoz.”

“Complex? Really? All I’ve ever seen Hankoz do is beat his chest, swing from the chandeliers, chase Scott, catch Scott, and fuck Scott.”

“Not ‘Scott’, ‘Tarzan’,” Scott corrected automatically. “Scott has force beams. Tarzan doesn’t.” Worryingly, he was assessing Warren’s penthouse with a Danger Room face. “How do you feel about lianas?”

“I’m not turning my living space into a jungle gym for you two perverts! Program your Tarzan scenario into the Danger Room protocols.”

“Anything I can program, Kitty can access,” Scott explained. “I don’t want her traumatized.”

“It’s a jungle tableau. There’s no reason why they have to find out what you’re doing with it.”

“We don’t trust Logan,” Hank explained. “At least…we trust Logan on a mission, with our lives, and with the children. We just don’t trust him not to bribe Kitty or one of the other kids to find a way to record our training sessions and then play them back for him. You know he wants to have sex with Scott.”

Scott, who never seemed to get any less clueless with the passing of the years despite all his varied and peculiar sexual experiences, said, “What…? Logan…? He does? Since when…?”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Since always, Scott, you knucklehead. Why do you suppose the man has been pulling your pigtails since he stepped across the threshold?”

“Because he liked Jean….” Scott grimaced at their pitying headshakes. “That wasn’t the reason?”

“Scott, could you at least consider the possibility of getting clued up on one subject that isn’t about tactics, training sessions, mission strategy, geometry, engineering, or your unhealthy obsession with the Blackbird?” Hank demanded. “It worries me more than I can say that the fearless leader of the X-Men has the psychological insight into his fellow human beings of a brain-damaged fourteen year old.”

“Be fair, Hank,” Warren said. “Scott spent half his formative years being raised by a madman in a madhouse. Is it really that surprising he can’t discern logical patterns in normal human behavior when he never got to meet anyone normal until he met you and me?”

“The fact that you and I are the two most normal people in his life frankly terrifies me.”

Scott was tuning them out, Warren noticed with annoyance. He had sat up now that Hank was no longer pinning him down and seemed to be still mentally changing Warren’s billion dollar loft into a place for practicing battle scenarios – or possibly sex games – and pensively contemplating the enigma that was Wolverine, his chin cupped in his hand as if he was modeling for Rodin. Irritably, Warren let his wings outspread, blocking the light from the lamp with them and Scott looked up in shock, and then…awe. They had got very good at reading his face without seeing his eyes, so Warren knew very well that he must look breathtaking right now, not just beautiful, not just angelic, but hammer of god level intimidating and magnificent. Just once though it would have been nice to read that in Scott’s eyes rather than his cheekbones and mouth and jaw and forehead. He stooped and kissed him, showing off with the wing flexing as he did so, and Scott responded shyly, like he’d been knocked for six all over again by the way Warren looked.

“I will never understand why Jean chose me over you,” he breathed.

“It was pity,” Warren assured him, pulling him in close to plunder his mouth. “There you were, a poor little six-foot-two hunk of heroic, stoic, virtuous, taut-muscled, supermodel-league eyecandy. What self-sacrificing woman with a working libido wouldn’t feel sorry for you and want to try to make you feel better about yourself?”

“Indeed,” Hank said dryly. “Troll that you are, Scott, Jean clearly deserved a medal for even taking you on.”

“I’m a brain damaged freak who fires force beams out of his eyes,” Scott muttered. “People used to come to the orphanage sometimes, but no one ever wanted to adopt me.”

“Because Sinister killed anyone who tried to take you away!” Hank pointed out. “And, besides, half of the people who came to that place were probably being mind controlled by him, were his own creations, or were just part of the programming. You were a rat in a maze, Scott. He emotionally manipulated you to find out what it would do to you. He made the other kids bully you or perv on you or obsess over you or all three at once. You never got treated with any ordinary kindness because Sinister wouldn’t allow it, not because you weren’t deserving of it. Now, can we please get back to what’s important here?”

“Sex?” Warren suggested hopefully, running his thumb across Scott’s kiss-stung lips.

“Why Scott and I need a Danger Room unconnected to the mansion and to which neither Logan nor Kitty can possibly gain remote access….”

Ten minutes of pleading from Scott and Hank and Warren had to admit that he was already building them a new Danger Room for their personal amusement in his basement. A really big Danger Room. One using hard light technology and implementing Savage Land scenarios, and, okay, yes, damnit, with a really convincing jungle program. It would be ready in a week, and, yes, he also admitted that if he hadn’t had the damn thing almost built he would have agreed to anything if it meant he got to fuck Scott sometime soon. Scott, however, was back to gazing off pensively into the distance in a way that made Warren want to kiss him hard and then fly off with him to a dizzying height.

Hank snapped his blue furry fingers at Scott and said, “Stop thinking about Logan or I seriously will put you over my knee and spank you.”

“I was just wondering if he was…lonely…?”

Warren and Hank exchanged a glance and a groan. “He doesn’t bathe,” Warren protested. “And he doesn’t play well with others. He probably hates sharing his toys.”

“And, given his macho posturing around Scott in the place of any honest declaration of feelings, he might have a lot of hangups about other men knowing he is bi,” Hank mused.

They exchanged another look. “He would probably hate it in an _interesting_ way,” Warren admitted.

“At the very least, it could be an enjoyable form of torture.”

Scott turned his visored face from one to the other of them, trying to gauge their meaning. “We’re planning…what now…?”

“Warren and I are just wondering whether or not to share you with Logan, Scotty,” Hank told him absently, patting him on the head. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

As Scott spluttered in indignation, Hank reminded Scott that he had long since given them _carte blanche_ to do anything they liked to him -- within reason -- in the bedroom, so unless he was recanting that permission…?

“No…but…”

“But what…? Do you think Logan outsteps the bounds of reason and decency?”

“Every damned day, Hank!”

Hank ignored Scott to say to Warren, “Do you think the Wolverine is a secret romantic, a secret brute, or a secret pervert?”

“All three,” Warren answered unhesitatingly. 

He had to admit he was starting to warm up to the idea a little and Hank clearly was, too. Scott, having set them down this path, contrarily, now seemed to be getting cold feet. He protested until Henry told him masterfully that in the bedroom it was his place to do as he was told and if Scott had forgotten that little detail, Hank would be happy to remind him. The reminder involved a lot of hard kissing, and some manhandling, licking, stroking, some more rough finger fucking, and whispering of perverted threats, by which point Hank had so successfully pressed all of Scott’s secret sub buttons that had Logan walked in at that moment at one imperious order from Henry McCoy, Scott would have dropped to his knees and orally satisfied Logan on the spot without a single whimper of protest.

“For a clueless, uptight prude you’re an amazingly easy lay, Scotty,” Warren murmured fondly as he took over kissing him while Scott sprawled breathlessly across Hank’s strong, furry body, shivering with reaction.

Scott muttered something that sounded like ‘Am not’ but then forgot about protesting in his eagerness to respond to Warren’s kisses.

“My turn.” Henry pushed Warren off with an annoying smirk, and, sitting on the couch, dumped Scott onto his furry lap so they were facing each other, Hank’s big blue cock rising up like a python while Scott responded to the sight of it with an impressive blood flow of his own. When Hank wrapped his hairy hand around their two cocks and began to stroke them together, Scott gave a gasp of satisfaction which Warren knew was as much about the sheer relief of surrendering control as it was about erogenous zones. The X-Men were possibly all perverts, as some of their detractors were wont to declare, but let it be said by no one that they were not _complex_ perverts.

Scott offered soft sounds of submission as he squirmed rhythmically on Hank’s lap. He had his forehead resting on one broad blue shoulder as Hank’s huge right hand funneled their two cocks and Scott pushed against Hank’s blood-heated shaft and those strong blue furry fingers, his whimpers choked down as he tried not to reveal his fraying control. 

Hank was offering erudite encouragement in a whispered torrent of verbal filth, full-blooded phrases murmured tantalizingly into Scott’s ear. Scott, Warren noted with interest, was shuddering in response while uttering unconvincing protests; his prudishness, as always, warring with his submissive proto-masochism. When Hank followed the words with deft, hot licks into Scott’s ear, the shuddering grew deeper and the bucking on Hank’s lap more pronounced.

Hank gave Warren a nod of encouragement and Warren was there in a moment, grateful that Beast’s was such a capacious lap as he slid onto those strong, furred thighs behind Scott. 

“No more prepping,” Hank warned. “Just slick yourself up and slide on in.”

Warren did so very, very slowly, sheathing himself in Scott while Scott moaned and arched back to meet him. Warren wrapped his fingers in Scott’s dark hair and pulled his head back so he could kiss him hungrily while Scott pushed back, shivering with the pleasure of Warren’s cock slowly impaling him, a stretching inch at a time; resisting it even as he wanted it, because that was the way he was wired, but wanting it very clearly all the same. Warren had to hand it to Hank, being chased around the penthouse by a jungle ape and then threatened with Logan had certainly got Scott more relaxed and receptive than usual. Warren pushed in and Scott moaned then moaned again as Hank’s slicked fingers funneled his cock and the bulging veins on the underside of their erections clashed deliciously. 

He was still resistant, of course, but he couldn’t help that. For all they knew Sinister -- among his other mind games -- had molested Scott and electro-shocked him simultaneously, trying to make him climax and then punishing him if he did; he was certainly weird about sex on a level too deep to fathom; a prudish masochist who had to be outmaneuvered to every orgasm while something buried in him uncomfortably fought the pleasure spasms every step of the way. 

“Remind Scott who’s boss,” Hank said and Warren began to whisper in Scott’s ear. Even though he knew that a man couldn’t coax Scott into letting go, that it was necessary to overwhelm him with sensations and, wherever possible, throw in some dominating masterful words that tapped straight into his natural sub, Warren wasn’t a natural at this, like Hank, far more self-conscious about using these phrases, but it seemed to add to the excitement, the way it made both him and Scott squirm with the embarrassment of it before they warmed up to it and went for it: Warren telling Scott he was a possession, that he and Hank owned him, fitted straight over the old scar tissue of Jack Winters telling him the same thing. Their words had overwritten those earlier ones, dissolved the ugly stain of them and washed them away. Scott didn’t need to resist the ownership they offered; it wasn’t a defeat to give in, but a choice. He had chosen to give himself to them and they had chosen to take full responsibility for him in the bedroom. They were the tacticians there; the rule makers and line drawers. His only job was to relax, submit, and obey. 

The last two he was good at; it was the first one that gave him problems. There was a reason why orgasms usually had to be surprised out of him with clever touches and deft thrusts, bypassing his subconscious resistance to tap into his pleasure circuits. Sometimes though the resistance was a wall and it was hard to program his body to get past it.

Scott was trying to relax though, bless him, and he did at least submit obediently with a soft sigh of sheer relief and Warren couldn’t resist sucking at his neck, even though they tried not to leave marks where the children might see them. Mischievously he wanted Logan to see this hickey and then prowl around angrily as he tried to work out where it came from. They always cleaned Scott up very carefully before they let him go back to the mansion, so Warren suspected that Logan’s jealous curiosity had been thwarted in the past. He might know Scott was getting it from somewhere, but be not quite certain who from. Tonight, Warren wanted Logan to know. He wanted him to smell feathers and thousand dollar cologne and to trace the trail of kisses Warren had left along Scott’s strong shoulders. 

Another push and Scott shuddered with the pleasure of being stretched. Warren tightened his grip in Scott’s hair, making his spine arch a little more, but his kisses were tender and far too gentle because he loved the damaged boy that Scott had once been, who had shared so many experiences with the boy that Warren had been, and he loved the damaged man he had grown up to be.

“I wonder what _is_ the sum total of your combined daddy issues…?” Hank murmured.

Scott said, “Smartass.”

Warren said, “Asshole.”

“Given where my hand is right now, Scott, you should mind your manners.”

“So Warren gets to call you an asshole and doesn’t get punished?”

Hank looked Warren up and down lazily, a heated glance, gold lit from the deeps, and Warren felt an uncomfortable flame lick over his skin and tingle through his wings in response.

“Oh, he probably will get punished very…thoroughly…” Hank said provocatively.

Warren spiked with base excitement at the prospect and his and Hank’s eyes met over Scott’s shoulder; Hank grimacing because he wanted to go on touching Scott and yet he really wanted to be fucking Warren. “This is where Logan would be useful,” Hank observed. “I’m sure he’d love a lapful of Scott Summers. Which would free me up for…other things.”

“I haven’t consented,” Warren said provocatively, but his wings were outstretched and shivering and Hank smirked at the sight of them.

“You suck as badly as Scott does at playing hard to get, Worthington.”

They kept gazing into each other’s eyes as Warren began to thrust into Scott, tantalizing Hank with the fact that his was the cock in Scott’s ass and his the cock striking those delicious little blows against Scott’s eager prostate, evoking those eager little moans, and that Hank was not getting to fuck either Scott or him right now. He suspected that if they did let Logan in on their ménage à trois and expand it to a ménage à quatre that Hank and Logan would get very alpha male competitive with each other and as a consequence Warren and Scott would be getting some seriously vigorous ass poundings. The thought made Warren shudder with excitement.

“Be strict with Scott, Warren,” Hank purred. “Or I’ll be _very_ strict with you.”

Warren rode Scott him with firm, shivering strokes that pushed through his residual -- purely cultural rather than subliminal -- surface resistance to being topped and carried them both into that place where Scott could admit that he loved being fucked in his uptight ass, abjectly submissive and offering soft, surprised whimpers of pleasure. Warren was letting the pace build and conjuring from Scott a rich array of tortured moans, when Henry McCoy once more unleashed his inner beast.

Hank said, “Stop!”

Warren called him a word bad enough to shock Scott – who he would have thought would have heard everything by now, hanging out with Logan – but did, shudderingly unwillingly, pause his thrusting. 

“Pull out of Scott. Trust me. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“I hate you.” Warren did, however unwillingly, obey, leaving the tight, clenching warmth of Scott’s delicious ass and then wrapping possessive arms around him in case Hank was thinking of making off with him for more swinging from the treetops. 

“Don’t even think about flying off with him,” Hank warned. 

Warren barely resisted the urge. Scott always brought out the animal in them, made Warren want to carry him off to his eyrie, made Hank want to beat his chest, and Logan snap and snarl like a dog with a bone, and it was all he could do to still his trembling wings. He pulled Scott in tighter and kissed him again and Scott responded with his usual dazed sweetness, sexual pleasure something he was still confused about, both as to whether it was permissible to enjoy it and why it happened that he did when other men’s penises were involved.

Hank was a pacifist and a genius but in the bedroom he was also as much of a mad scientist as when he was in his lab and it didn’t do to interfere with his experiments. Somehow, Hank was physically manipulating them again, once more the ringmaster to their sexual circus, a bracing hand on Scott’s hairless chest to hold him up, then wriggling out from underneath them with some rough manhandling that made them both yelp, then positioning them so Scott’s knees were on the couch, his fingers gripping the soft spine of it.

“Can I get back to what I was doing?” Warren demanded with exaggerated patience.

Hank smirked at him, started lubing his own cock in a way too pointed to ignore and said, “Be my guest.”

Scott groaned as Warren pushed back in; his natural uptightness never more apparent than when a man was working his cock into him. It was always like the first time all over again with Scott, and this despite having had Hank’s monster cock vigorously pounding his prostate many times now. Scott secretly liked it when they hurt him a little although none of them were admitting aloud either that they knew he liked it or that Hank and Warren got a guilty little kick out of hearing his breath catch or his moans take on that note that meant he was being stretched too far or ridden too hard. 

Warren sped up his thrusting, excited by the smack-smack-smack of his flesh against Scott’s and those whimpered pain-and-pleasure sounds from Scott who still held back a little, resistant to it even as he wanted it. Even now he didn’t know if this was all Sinister’s doing, if Scott tightened up like this to make it hurt because he liked it to hurt or if his natural uptightness just kept him from giving in to his oncoming climax, afraid of losing control in case it revealed itself in a force beam blast. He kept whispering in Scot’s ear that it was okay to lose control it really was, but without Hank stroking his cock, Scott wasn’t there yet.

“It’s because you don’t fuck him hard enough,” Hank breathed in Warren’s ear and at the same time Warren was wailing in response to a stretching ache as he was penetrated.

“You bastard, I hate you,” he breathed through gritted teeth; clinging hard enough to Scott to leave bruises as his rhythm stuttered; his ass unbelievably sore and yet still, weirdly, wanting more of it.

“No you don’t…” Hank purred smugly.

Scott was shoved harder against the couch by the weight of two men on top of him and for a moment all Warren could do was hang onto him, barely thrusting as Hank impaled him with his beast-sized cock. Warren straddled and moaned and had tears in his eyes but he liked it, his traitorous body liked it and was pushing back to meet it, the stimulation of his prostate making him want to shriek with pleasure. He bit it down fiercely and defiantly thrust into Scott who was bracing himself against the couch with difficulty.

“The two of you together weigh five hundred pounds,” he gasped. “Try not to – oof…!”

Hank was thrusting with deep, steady strokes, each one pushing Warren into Scott so that he was fucking and being fucked in a slick slide of cock-squeezing, ass-pounding pleasure-pain that made him moan wildly.

Fingers biting into Scott’s shoulders Warren barely clung to his shredding self-control with his cock rasped and his prostate stimulated and his world narrowed to warm, loving bodies responding to his. Scott was trying to brace himself against their weight while Warren was thrust into him by Beast’s relentless pace; if Hank was skillfully hitting Warren’s prostate with measured blows, Scott was just getting slammed into anyhow as Warren struggled to hang onto his self-control and then as the pleasure rush ran up from his tightening balls lost it with a defeated wail and a hot spurt of ecstasy.

Hank held him up through his orgasm as he kissed Warren triumphantly, his dominance thoroughly established, while Warren shuddering and shivering had to admit to total lack of control. Hank’s fingers tightened on his hips and eased him out of Scott, still spurting, then pushed him gently down on the couch next to Scott.

Gasping for breath, Warren looked up to find Scott peering down at him in concern, light flickering behind his visor. “You okay…?” Scott broke off with a shivering moan and Warren shifted his position to see Hank pushing his erection into Scott’s semen-filled ass. Warren could only sympathize entirely as Scott whimpered and straddled to try to accommodate its girth and then uttered another moan as he tried to take its length.

“Me then Scott straight after? You’re an animal,” Warren said, panting.

Hank smirked at him. “You’re the one who told me to unleash my inner beast, Warren, and besides, you’re the one who had the thrilling climax. Mine is still to come. Something you wanted to say, Scott…?”

That was cruel. Scott could stay vaguely coherent when he and Warren fucked but Hank’s monster cock always turned his knees to jelly and his brain to tapioca. Which, unfortunately, was necessary with him today. He was too resistant to anything that wasn’t basically a full out assault on his senses right now, making it necessary to bully a climax out of him when with another guy they could have lovingly coaxed. Warren thought he and Hank were making progress, but there was still a lot of deep subconscious resistance to overcome. Now that Hank was fucking him, good and hard, Scott was just clinging to the back of the couch, mouth open, face a wild blank as sensation shuddered through him in response to each stretching thrust. His moans had a shocked, pleading quality to them whenever Hank fucked him, like he had no idea why it was making his body feel like this and he needed an explanation. He gripped the couch and his head went back and then drooped between his shoulders in defeat as Hank pounded him, skillfully and thoroughly, as hard and as deep as Scott could take it.

Scott began to wail like the sounds were torn from him and Warren wondered as he had wondered before if Scott was ever going to just relax into it instead of fighting it all the way. He and Hank had both come to the same conclusion: that Jean had got into his head while she and Scott were having sex and gently prized him loose from his inner anally retentive control freak so that he would relax enough to let go and enjoy it. Not being telepaths they didn’t have the option of manipulating his mind to a state of relaxation, all they could do was what Hank was doing and fuck the fight right out of him.

It was working. Scott might sound bewildered and resistant but there were too many sensations pulsing through him for his brain to hang onto its Must Not Lose Control default. Hank was giving him the ass pounding to end all ass poundings now, incredibly fast and hard, just the way Scott truly -- guiltily -- liked it. His jolted body was sweat-sheened and squirming, he was arching and moaning, Hank’s utterly to command, and the pleasure was building up through his shaking thighs and up his arching spine. Warren leaned over abruptly, caught Scott by the hair and kissed him, very tenderly, on the mouth, just as Hank with a nod of approval landed the coup de grace and Scott came, sobbing into Warren’s mouth and arching as his semen spattered all over the cushions of Warren’s very expensive couch. Hank’s chesty roar completed the picture and Warren held Scott up in case Hank collapsed on top of him. For a moment, Scott was indeed being flattened by three hundred plus pounds of blue-furred genius, but then Hank shoved a shaking hand at the back of the couch and levered himself off and out of a sweating, gasping, thoroughly fucked Scott.

That elicited a moan from Scott because, even limp, Hank’s cock was something a man felt when it was eased out of his ass, and then Hank was breathing hard as he slid onto the couch and pulled Scott onto his lap; Scott curling up against him as he tried to get his breath back. Hank held out a hand to Warren and Warren was still weak-kneed enough to be glad of that helpful tug into Hank’s warm, furry arm. He knee-walked along the couch so his wings had room to spread and ran a comforting hand down Scott’s heaving back; Scott still shuddering with the reaction of his own overcome resistance and the shock of having climaxed.

“It wouldn’t be such a crazy, stressful adrenalin ride if you just let go and admitted you like being fucked and it makes you come, Scotty,” Warren pointed out.

Still breathing hard, Scott said, “I…can’t… Not unless you….” The ‘make me’ and all its playground connotations remained unsaid.

“Not your fault,” Hank told him, fingers gently combing Scott’s chestnut hair. “Sinister did a number on you and then buried it in parts of your brain not even the Professor can access. You’re allowed your weird little hangups.”

“Generous of you,” Scott said, still panting, but he was relaxed on Hank’s lap now, rubbing his cheek against Hank’s furry chest in an unconscious display of contented submission. Even if he didn’t really understand how and why it worked; Hank could make his body do things it didn’t want to do and make it like doing them; to Scott that made Hank less a scientist than an actual bona fide wizard. 

Warren caressed his back again; it was beautiful Scott’s back, the muscles of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, and the linking chain of his spine. Scott turned his head on Hank’s chest to give Warren a sheepish smile. He looked as relaxed as a cat on Hank now, his body rising and falling to the rhythm of Hank’s huge chest.

Scott said, “Thanks, Warren.” 

Warren knew exactly what he meant: for being gentle with him even though that didn’t really work with Scott’s wiring, for finding it so difficult to be as rough with him as Scott’s body needed his bedmates to be; for making him feel loved even as Hank made him feel that there was someone else so demonstrably in charge and he could just let go.

Warren stroked that straying bang out of Scott’s right eye. “Any time.”

Hank eased Scott up for a tender kiss, just as loving and heartfelt as he wanted. Scott’s hang-ups meant he didn’t get to be as loving with him in bed as Hank might like, but he made sure he showed it afterwards when Scott no longer had to believe he was with the scary apeman who would ravish him anyway if he didn’t submit. Scott responded a little shyly, embarrassed by his own role in all of this.

Hank kissed him again and said, “I want to bring in Logan.”

Scott squirmed. “He’ll know about….”

“That’s why I want him to join us. He needs to know what you’re dealing with. What you have to overcome every day when you give orders. That this isn’t easy for you but you do it anyway.”

The _And he needs to fall in love with you like we have for the good of the team_ went unspoken, but Warren could see the benefit. “And there is the small matter of him currently being an obnoxious prick due to unadmitted longings and buried sexual frustration.”

Hank continued comfortably as he kept stroking Scott’s hair as if he was a pet cat, “An admirable point. Wolverine prowling around, hot for leader boy and deeply resentful of the fact is a pain in everyone’s collective ass. Wolverine getting to have his way with leader boy will still be a pain in Scott’s ass but he’ll be much more pleasant for the rest of us to know.”

“Nice for the rest of you,” Scott murmured drowsily.

“I would never let him hurt you,” Hank said and just for a second he let it show through in a golden eye flash -- how protective he truly was of Scott.

“I don’t need a knight in shining armor, Hank, and Logan wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, I really don’t think he would -- not if he was allowed to join in. How he’s going to react when you turn up at the mansion smelling of the two of us is, of course, a completely different matter.”

“He won’t care,” said Scott, almost asleep.

Warren and Hank exchanged an eloquent glance. “Scott really has no idea the effect he has on basic alpha males, does he?” Warren said, amused.

“I’m an alpha male…” Scott murmured.

“Not in the bedroom, Scotty. Never in the bedroom.”

As Scott drifted off to sleep, Warren said, “Seriously, we can’t send him home smelling of us. Logan will stab him in a frenzy of frustrated sexual jealousy. We either wash him or keep him here.”

Hank smirked. “Let’s keep him here. Let Logan really stew for a day before we send him his invite. You just know he’s lying awake right now trying to tell himself he’s just being paranoid imagining that we’re having a threesome over here -- while he thinks about Scott being fucked by rival guys and jerks off furiously at the prospect.”

“I wonder which he really wants more? To fuck Scott or watch you do it?”

They exchanged another look. “What about you, Warren? Do you have a preference?”

Warren found himself cuddling up with Henry McCoy, his wings neatly folded, Hank’s big blue arm around his shoulders, Hank’s fingers still absently mussing Scott’s hair while Warren kept stroking those soothing lines down Scott’s beautiful back.

“Both are somewhat enjoyable,” Warren admitted primly. “It’s Scott’s misfortune to be both irresistibly fuckable and to make the world’s best spectator sport.” He patted Scott’s butt lightly and Scott uttered a muffled protest from the depths of his drowse. “He was right about one thing -- we are both going to be walking funny tomorrow.”

Hank said, “Like you wouldn’t let me fuck you all over again if it wouldn’t wake up Scott.”

“Not the point.” Warren shifted uncomfortably. “Although I’m not agreeing to let Logan pull his masterful act with me. You’re quite enough to cope with. Scott can deal with Logan.”

“Fuck Logan,” Hank said masterfully. “Tonight it’s the three of us, just like in the old days. It’s you, me, Scott, and a sky full of stars.”

They curled up together in sticky post-coital contentment, warm and relaxed, as Scott drowsed and dreamed between them, the distant mountains frosted with white drifts of starlit snow, the deep green forests filled with watchful silence, and the three of them for this one brief night utterly at peace.


End file.
